In the March 30th issue of the Phoenix, I profiled Brooklyn's Friends -- discussing the band's ability to write songs about sociopolitical topics in subtle ways. "It's easy to fall for
Friends without ever picking up on their politics," I wrote. "The group's glam-pop
'80s-New-York-inspired jams themselves are catchy as hell."

Technically? Not the first time Ms. LeBlanc has released something under her first name. Back in 2001, there appeared an album called This Summer, credited to 15-year-old NOELLE; RCA later re-issued it as Damone’s debut. Now, with a decade of trials and tribulations under her belt, LeBlanc’s new one-off EP Good Ol’ Daze (recorded between Organ Beats albums) takes her back to the start: bedroom-crush lullabies lured into synth-pop reveries.

Little Spoon (formerly High Sea) is Allston resident Cameron Potter's local dreamy psych-gaze solo project. Potter sent us two new ultra-inspired jams last night, "Slumber" and "Truss," which you can stream right here via Bandcamp:

Potter appropriately recorded both of these high-vibing introspective tracks in his bedroom, layering and looping synth, vocals, and a few drums.

Jim Hewitt's self-recorded 2010 EP, Imago Demos (under the temporary
moniker Young Minds), wasn't just a bedroom project. The Allston songwriter was
so uncomfortable singing in front of his roommates that he'd venture out to his
car in order to record his vocals in isolation. Recently, Hewitt re-emerged as ORCA ORCA, named for nothing
really beyond a casual affinity for killer whales.

It's time for show and tell with Boston's Rap Class of 2011
-- a kaleidoscopic cross-section of Boston's varied hip-hop scene. From
rookies to vets, what these acts do have in common is that they're all
currently causing sparks on account of fresh, innovative approaches. We
also paired each rap classmate with a Boston-associated hip-hop video
maker to create original productions; see the results and get MP3s
below.

We here at the Phoenix have been tracking the progress of Corin Tucker's first post-Sleater-Kinney solo album veryclosely. Now we have our first actual taste of 1,000 Years, her forthcoming Kill Rock Stars release. It's called "Riley" "Doubt," and while it's definitely not the return of Sleater-Kinney, it still succeeds on its own merits.

When she’s not drawing blood at Mass General,
Lady Repo is pouring her own out onto paper. Born Ami Nata — or Queen
Mother in Senegalese — the rapper-turned-nursing-aid is as real as they
come. Repo cuts into her past like a surgeon with an honesty akin to
that of Beanie Sigel. “I don’t know how to water myself down.

If Sarah Palin is a bulldog with lipstick — or
whatever that moron called herself — Sheek is a rottweiler in heels
posing as a poodle. The girl’s girl from Dorchester may giggle between
songs, but when she barks, she barks big. Marking her territory all over
Boston, Sheek has performed in most of the major venues and earned
radio burn on all the local hip-hop stations.

It’s 6 am on a Sunday morning when Serge Didenko
picks me up for a photo shoot, and he’s as bright-eyed as Homer Simpson
at a pancake breakfast. At the shoot, he’s jumping over fences and
bouncing around the Belmont High School football field. “I’m kind of
crazy,” he says, cracking a smile. He’s not kidding.

When Young Don rocked the Fletcher Middle School
in Cambridge in eighth grade, his best friend, Chris, soon to become
Chief C, wasn’t about to let him get all the attention. The two have
been rapping together ever since. Their first mixtape as Certified G’z, Fly
Boyz, was “about a whole lot of nothing,” says Don, who recently
finished a one-year prison sentence.

It’s a slow, hot Sunday afternoon in Jamaica
Plain when I meet the Urban Nerdz by the Stony Brook station. Bouffard
Malory keeps jumping up and screaming at the sight of every passing
bumble bee; Kay Special alternates between sitting and standing every
few minutes; Ace BooGie casually places one leg in the air.

Concep sits in the corner of the Orleans bar and
restaurant in Somerville (where I’ve been a waitress for more than two
years) on nights when his brother Derrick works the door. Mostly, he’s
soft-spoken and keeps to himself, and when he said he rapped, I wasn’t
sure what to expect, since he doesn’t sport the arrogant swag that most
MCs wear like fur-collar coats.

In the modern entertainment industry, Bay Holla
is a Renaissance woman. Rapper, model, actress, philanthropist, street
worker, manager, community organizer, and comedian, the Roxbury native
is like an urban Rubik’s Cube. “I’m looking to make music,” she says,
“but at the end of the day, I do everything.

Before rap came along, Millyz was a singer in his
class chorus. “I just wanted to be a singer,” he says, sipping Hennessy
at Riverside Pizza in Cambridge, “but I would always try to memorize
what rappers said, so I could say it with them when I listened.” Growing
up near Central Square, “with all the bums and crackheads and crazies,”
Millyz was a white minority.